


"He Thinks He's People!"

by WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Bestiality, Dogs, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Drunk everything, Drunk philosophy, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Humor, Knotting, M/M, Other, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, dont worry: nothing bad happens to the dog, pickles is not a good role model
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 08:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14016213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs/pseuds/WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs
Summary: Nathan and Pickles want a dog. Adorable shenanigans ensue, as do some incredibly fucked up ideas.WARNING:it's a beasty fic.Pleaseheed the warnings on this one.





	"He Thinks He's People!"

**Author's Note:**

> Good news: This is probably the worst thing I've ever written. That's quite an accomplishment, given my near decade experience with writing and my kink for pushing the limits. If nothing else, if gives me peace of mind that I can now write my ideas for cannibalism / castration centered fics and not feel so weird. 
> 
> I was actually talking to someone about whether or not this is the worst thing I've done. We came to the conclusion that it's hard to measure: "Is dog fucking worse than necrophilia? How would you order these things in terms of taboo?" I don't really have an answer, beyond it just depends on the kind of person you are.
> 
> At any rate; _please remember this is all fiction. I'm not condoning these actions or encouraging it, **please take note of the line I've drawn between fiction and reality**_. We're all just here to have a good time. All I ask is for y'all to not yell at me; the warnings are there for a reason.

How did they end up on this topic?

“Dood, I would actually literally fuck a dog.”

Nathan immediately shoots him down. “You literally would not.” 

“What?!” Pickles sounds so offended. 

“You actually could not. I've had a dog, remember? And before we got him fixed, I saw his dick. You couldn't take that.” 

“Look—I'm Pickles the Drummer! I can fuck whatever I want!”

“You would literally die.”

“Is that a challenge?” 

“...I guess it is now!” 

“'ey!” Pickles waves over the nearest Klokateer and doesn't bother lowering his voice, “You. Find us a dog. Don't ask why.” 

“Yes, sire.” they nod.

“...a big one.” Nathan chimes in. 

“Yes, sire.”

“A boy dog!” Pickles clarifies. 

“Yes, sire.” 

They wait for some other random drunk detail to get shouted out, but in the pause that follows, the worker takes the opportunity to leave and fulfill such an odd whim. Before they exit, Pickles calls out to them one more time, over the noise of the bar: “An' make sure he's got balls!” 

\----

Pickles had done some fucked up shit in his life. Whether or not everything he claimed was true was up for debate, but seeing how wild he could get at his drunkest, everyone tended to take his word for it. 

But this was the point where Nathan was beginning to question him. Perhaps it was due to his drunken state that even he began to wonder: why draw the line at such an arbitrary place? Sure, Sober Nathan would have an answer, perhaps saying that there were some lines that shouldn't be crossed. But Drunk Nathan disagreed; Drunk Nathan wanted to call Pickles out on this, wanted to see him back out of something for once in his life. 

Maybe that's why they let a (probably stray) dog hop in the back of the limo with them. Sure enough; it was a big dog. _He_ was a big dog. A German Shepard, possibly mixed with something else? He was amiable enough, and took to Pickles about as quickly as Pickles took to him. 

“Hey Nate'n. Can dogs drink beer?”

“No.”

“...Are you sure?”

Not really, but he wasn't about to admit it. “Yeah. I'm pretty sure they'd die.” 

“Oh...” Pickles looked so disappointed. “Dat's really sad.” 

“We can find something else to give 'im.” Nathan offered instead. Pickles perked up at that, took the dog by its makeshift leash and lead him into Mordhaus. 

“C'mon, bud, let's git you some ham.” 

\----

“You, uh... you have a dog now.” 

He expects this kind of thing from Toki. To an extent, he can even see Nathan caving in to the idea of a pet. That doesn't make it any less surprising when he enters the kitchen and sees a German Shepard—seated at the table, in a chair, like a guest, with the boys. Like it's always been there. 

“Yeh.” Pickles is rifling through the kitchen, no doubt looking for something to feed the dog. “His name's Stud.” Even half inside the fridge, he sounds so proud when he says it. 

Charles raises an eyebrow at that. They wouldn't seriously... “And why's that?”

Nathan and Pickles look at each other in panic. Nathan trails off with an “uhh...” as he tries to think of an excuse. It only raises more suspicions, so Pickles cuts him off. “Because... we're gonna git him a spiked collar!” he blurts out.

Charles pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the oncoming headache he knows he's going to walk away with. That had to be one of the worst excuses they've ever given him. 

“Alright,” he concedes, knowing full well he has to pick his battles, “if you're going to have a dog, then I'd have to advise you to at least get him fixed, to avoid any further issues—”

“Aw, c'mon!" Pickles is quick to protest, “Dat's so cruel tho.”

That's what he thought. At least now he has confirmation on _why_ exactly they wanted to keep the dog. 

Charles is loathe to mention the time they insisted upon the same solution for a human—one they already treated like a dog. In the back of his mind he's grateful that they'd at least treat a real animal better than they'd treat a human.

“Just... take care of it, alright?”

“You got it, chief!” Pickles calls to him as he leaves. 

\----

“I love dis guy.” Pickles giggles as he takes another strip of ham from the plastic, holds it up and lets the dog take it from him. 

“I do too,” Nathan joins him on the floor rather clumsily, “But we had a thing goin'.”

“Oh, raight.” Pickles tosses the empty container to the side. He forces himself to sit up and pats his lap to call Stud over. They trot over obediently, and Pickles leans in to examine what they've got.

Yep. Those were balls alright. His curiosity gets the better of him and he takes them in his hand. It makes the pup yelp, but they slowly get used to the touch, nails clicking against the tile as they readjusts. Pickles' fingers are clumsy as he moves further along, to the sheathe. 

“Why d'ya think dogs have that, Nate?”

Nathan offers a noncommittal grunt, only half sure of what he's even asking about. 

“Why don't humans have a dick pocket, though?”

“Fuck, man, I dunno,” he can even _hear_ Nathan's palm hitting his face, “'cause it'd be fuckin' weird, dude.”

Pickles lets slip a drunken giggle that sounds far too similar to his brother's jackass laugh for his liking. (He shivers internally— _don't think about yer fuckin' brother while groping a dog,_ he reminds himself.)

He cups his hand around the sheathe with a slight squeeze; then he can feel the tip poking out, wet and hot. His fingertips dance over the exposed tip to coax out more, and the further it extends the more he takes note of its color.

Red. Bright red. Shockingly bright, almost bloody red. He's heard the term “red rocket” before but—he's never really thought about exactly _how_ red. 

Then it hits him: it's the exact same color as his hair. _That's_ why it's so fucking familiar. 

“Pickles... you're drooling.”

Yeah he is.

The good thing about being so wasted is that it allows his hedonistic mind to fully indulge in whatever he wants, without considering any consequences. It was how they got into this situation, after all.

Could you get some kind of STD from a dog? He probably should have asked himself that, before letting his tongue touch their cock.

“Oh, that's _sick._ ”

Fuck yeah it was.

The taste is so foreign, yet so familiar in its heat and the musky scent of _sex._ Perhaps that's what persuades Pickles into taking it in his mouth next. 

The scent is coming in even stronger now, and despite just holding it in his hand, he's only now taking in the shape. As it slides past his lips and he encircles it with his tongue, he tries to visualize it in his mind. 

He's struck by how, despite being used for the same purpose, it differs in construction from a human dick. The color, for one, but also the way the end tapers to a point, the fact that it extends from a sheathe, the way—

“Gghrk—!!”

The way he chokes on it, from the dog trying to thrust into his throat so suddenly. He pulls away coughing.

“Dude, you alright?”

He only nods in response, still coughing. Once he's able to breathe and subsequently open his eyes to see again, he realizes that he's had a hand between his legs the entire time. He presses the seam of his jeans up into his clit and grinds down against it, and **_fuck_** that's good...

The dog whines at him and nudges his hand with their nose, trying to get his attention again. Pickles scratches behind their ears with his free hand and offers up a “Sorry, bud.”

He has too many clothes on for this, he decides, and begins the longer than usual process of wriggling out of his jeans. He tries to pull off his briefs in the same motion, but only ends up tangled in it all. Once he's able to free one leg he kicks the whole mess away. That's a problem for Future Pickles to sort out. Doesn't even bother with his shirt—he's too drunk to be totally naked right now. 

Being on his hands and knees helps, though. He can press the side of his face into the tile floor; cold, solid, and a little sobering.

He feels the dog's nose sniffing around his cunt—it's no wonder; he's already wet.

“Nate'n, help me out here.” Pickles slurs, face still half mashed into the floor.

“How?”

“Get the dog on top of me.”

Nathan probably complains more but Pickles doesn't hear it. Instead he feels a big solid hand patting the small of his back, encouraging Stud to hop up. Like Pickles is a piece of furniture to sit on. 

It works though; he feels the dog's weight on him, front legs hugging his midsection and the heat of their cock rubbing up against his cunt. 

“Nate'n...”

“I am _not_ putting the dog's dick in you.” 

“ ** _Fine_** , be a jerk.”

Pickles blindly reaches behind himself, grasping at air, his cunt, the dog's balls, until finally finding his cock and guiding it inside him. 

As soon as it makes entrance, it's like nature takes over.

He doesn't expect a dog to know pacing—but he's still surprised by the full force thrusting. It's enough to get his face off the ground and his arms underneath him to support himself. 

It's so much all at once, but it's exactly what he needs now that they're this far in. He can feel and hear the dog's panting behind his head, very adamantly reminding him of what he's doing and the sin he's committing. 

“O-oh my gahd... N-nate'n...” then, he clarifies, “a-are... _hah_... are you seein' dis?”

He's only somewhat asking seriously, because his head is swimming and the room is spinning and he's struggling to focus on the shape of Nathan's figure across from him. From what he can make out, he can see the green of his eyes wide open, one hand over his mouth (in shock?), the other awkwardly clutching his knee, like he's fighting the urge to...

“Dood—jest whip it out, it'd be the least weird thing goin' on.”

He probably said that wrong, but who cares? Not him. 

God, the fact that Nathan was getting off on this just as much as he was only makes it more exciting. And as usual, his mouth is watering at the sight of Nathan's cock.

“I'd suck your dick, but this... this is a lot and I-I think I maight die.”

He couldn't even get himself off right now, let alone someone else. He _would_ reach down to play with his clit, except then he'd lose his balance and that's all he's got right now. 

In the dog's eagerness, one thrust goes awry and causes them to slip out. Their hips don't slow down, though, and in their haste it jams the tip of their cock directly into Pickles' clit. Far too hard, hard enough to make him jolt forward and shout a “ _ **Fuck—**_ ” that's a little too loud. In his peripheral he can see it even makes Nathan jump. 

“Easy, easy, easy—!” Pickles tries to soothe them while he catches his breath. As soon as they had slipped out they were already whining in his ear. He needs a moment to breathe and try to coordinate his limbs well enough to get them situated again. 

With Stud back at it, Pickles feels that familiar warmth growing in his lower half. The numbness that comes with being fucked so brutally hard, leaves him so wet he feels it dripping down his thighs. He hasn't been fucked this good in _years_ , and of course it takes a dog to do it. 

_God, maybe he should just give up on people altogether..._

The whining in his ears grows louder, and he has an idea of what that means. 

“Ooh, Nate, I think he's gonna....” 

To hell with his balance; he falls to his elbows and puts all his weight to his right while his left hand dives between his legs. His clit is swollen and throbbing almost in rhythm with the pulsing of the organ inside him. 

There's a burst of heat inside him, followed by a sensation he wasn't expecting. Swelling, pulsing, stretching, filling. It makes his toes curl and sends his orgasm crashing through him with a ferocity he wasn't prepared for. He's not sure how loud he got, but he's pretty sure his cry echoes off the walls of the kitchen. 

Initially he tries to pull away, but the dog howls and Pickles finds he's very firmly stuck. 

“You're not goin' anywhere,” Nathan jeers, “Did you seriously not see that coming?”

“I can't see shit right now.” Pickles jabs back. “So... what now?” 

“Nothing, man, just wait it out. It'll go down eventually.” Nathan's already taken the liberty of cleaning himself up, save the cumstain on the floor. Someone else'll get that; that's what they're paid for. 

Pickles slumps forward and rests his face on the tile again. The dog's panting has gone down, at least, and now he can feel Stud licking at his shoulder. He throws a hand around to scratch their neck and feels them lick his fingers. He mumbles a “Good boy,” mostly into the ground. 

“So, uh...” Nathan clears his throat awkwardly, “...how was it?”

“Dood.” Pickles lifts his head up to look straight at Nathan, “It. Was. _Amazing._ ” And back to the floor again. “Like gittin' fucked by a machine.” 

He thinks Nathan nodded, because he doesn't say anything else. It's an awkward silence that follows, one that nearly allows Pickles to fall asleep. He could use a rest after all that. The position has left him aching in his joints—fuck, he's getting old. Next time they're doing this some place other than the fucking kitchen. 

The dog removes itself when able to, with an obscene sound and probably an obscene aftermath. He just knows he's gaping from the feeling of cum oozing out of him. Usually that takes a while. 

He throws himself onto his back, just relieved to be off his hands and knees. The dog slinks around him before settling on licking his face next, and Pickles only has it in him to push them away once or twice. 

Eventually he's able to pull himself upright and lean against the counters, much in the same way Nathan has been. 

“Dood. That was like... the _best_ idea I've ever had.” he giggles. 

“It really wasn't, though.”

“Holy shit, Nate'n... do you t'ink...” his lips curl into an awful punchable smirk, and Nathan braces himself for an even worse idea, “do you t'ink we could get a horse next?”

“ ** _DO NOT_ fuck a horse, Pickles.** ”

**Epilogue:**

Charles sighed. At least Nathan had enough sense in him to discourage the idea. 

He watches the security cameras in the kitchen for a while longer. It seemed they were mostly done, but he wanted to make sure. The dog, Stud, trots in front of them and sits at Pickles' side. No doubt they were going to want to keep him around. _Fantastic_ , another headache to worry about. 

Now he'd have to find someone to take care of this one too. Perhaps #624; she was already taking care of the yard wolves, familiar enough with animals to tolerate a simple dog. 

He'd have to keep the dog away from Toki, too. That... was going to prove significantly more difficult. But before any of that... 

_Sigh..._

...He'd have to look into whether or not having sex with a dog was dangerous in any capacity.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Charles and the things he has to research for his boys' safety.


End file.
